


Matched Blades

by orphan_account



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Armor, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fields of Justice, Knifeplay, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Paralysis, Rape/Non-con Elements, Semi-Public Sex, Top Lane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 10:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7528777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Don’t thank me.” She said, and Garen looked away, clenching his jaw. Of course that was a Noxian for you, you offer them a kind word and they spit it back at you. He cursed himself for feeling this. Demacian weakling was exactly-</p><p>“I failed you.” Katarina said, her voice like tempered steel. “Don’t thank me for failing you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matched Blades

**Author's Note:**

> Written during S4.

The grass high over Garen’s head swayed, blown by an unquiet wind. The wind on Summoner’s Rift oft seemed laced with strange magics, carrying sounds of battles long since won to unsettle the restless mind.

Garen was calm though. This was far from his first time on the Fields of Justice, and he had long grown used to the thrumming beat of war that hung like a pall. He could hear the sound of clashing blades to his right, and his hand strayed to the hilt of his sword, rubbing the familiar metal in a soothing gesture.

Well, perhaps not so soothing to his enemies.

Behind him, his tower lay in ruins faint sparks lending an ozone scent to the air around him. It had already been a long battle, and a hard one. His team had fought well and bravely.

For Noxian scum that is.

Before him, tiny figures sparked and fought, casting bolts of energy. Garen had thought things must have a will, a mind to use magic, but perhaps the League had found a way around even this law of man. Even so close to this power, a respected member of the League, he still was not privy to the inner workings. It didn’t bother Garen overly much. He was soldier first, and soldiers were well used to taking orders. His prince commanded, and he obeyed.

His eyes strayed to the form before him, his teammate in battle.

Some commands were harder than others.

When Summoned, you had no choice of your comrades. And while Garen had many loyal and stalwart friends on the League, there was always the possibility that he would be called into battle with some of the … others. In the distance, if he strained his ears, he could hear the rattling ghostly sound of Thresh, where he fought beside the inscrutable Noxian Talon. They had been selected for bottom lane, and upon receiving their orders they had moved swiftly and decisively into battle, not even a glance between the two.

In the middle lane, closer to where Garen sat, buried in stiff jungle grass, Sion had thundered down, muscles rippling beneath waxy skin. When he had been summoned his axe had been wet with fresh blood, and Garen had turned away.

It could have been Demacian blood. He hoped not. He wanted the Demacian people free of such horrors. That’s all the Noxians were in the end, horrors that preyed on the mind when it was weakest. Flashing blades in the night, silent like a whisper, and as practiced and seductive as a whore’s caress…

Katarina was fighting in front of him.

She was beautiful.

Her hair was like some dark flame, rich poison flaring in the wind as she lunged and parried, the sweet steel sound of her blades as welcomed and familiar to his ears as that of his own sword. She cut the minions down in droves, face calm, but focused. She was too skilled to let a minion over power her, yet ever alert on the field of battle. A perfect weapon.

Garen swallowed, cutting his eyes away from her. Behind him he could hear a few of the wolves that prowled the forests snuffling, always starved for an unsuspecting Champion. Easy pickings for sharp jaws.

The minion wave cleared and their own minions ran ahead, tripping over themselves and their robes in haste for battle. Katarina turned back, jogging towards him, her body moving flawlessly under her command all grace, and presence. She slipped into the tall grass like she was parting a curtain, and settled onto her haunches beside him. Already her blades had disappeared, hidden from sight, until they flashed before an enemy’s eyes, dazzling and deadly. Garen had been on the receiving end of that particular trick far too often.

The silence between them was a wavering thing. She seemed unaffected but if he chose to look, Garen would have seen the fluttering pulse in her throat, her heart racing like she had just made a kill. Garen’s eyes were instead sweeping the lane before them, hand still braced on his sword hilt, but hand no longer rubbing the pommel like a worry stone. Something had triggered one of his wards.

Someone was coming.

Garen waited, creeping forward, while remaining cloaked in the grassy knoll that shielded him from enemy eyes. He could feel Katarina behind him, her breath warm against the back of his neck, and he repressed a shiver. He hadn’t even heard her move.

The ward flared again, the magic tingling on his skin like a shock, and he strained his eyes… there. Before him ran the huge Ursine warrior that had plagued them this long battle. His huge feet shook the ground, rather aptly like thunder, and the armor plating over his shoulders made him seem less like a crude animal, and more like an ancient god, awakened and ready for battle.

“He’s alone.” Katarina whispered, and her voice was soft, overtly feminine from the hushed atmosphere. Garen merely nodded, not trusting himself to speech. He wondered if that was how she sounded speaking to friends, family… lovers. The muscles in his thighs tensed and relaxed, stiff from long minutes crouching like a mouse, and not a man.

His blood, impatient for battle.

Volibear was ambling forward slowly now, his large paws slowing as though he sensed a trap, head bobbing as he scented the air, fur ruffling just as the grass around the swayed, blowing uneasily.

No wind, though.

Garen whirled, but it was too late. He saw Katarina’s face go white as a purple shroud descended on them sapping his strength, and slowing him, he drew his sword, but in his bones he knew it was too late. Volibear let out a vicious roar, a sound of ice and thunder, and raced towards them, an unnatural burst of speed powering his paws forward as he descended into the grass flushing them out into the open like wild game before a dog. Garen saw the blade, and the assassin who used it just before it slammed into Katarina’s shoulder, knocking her back from him. Her blood was almost the same color as her hair.

Minions pooled around them firing tiny bolts of energy indiscriminately, and Garen watched helplessly, still slowed as he destroyed their Siege minion with one swing of his open paw.

Behind him Akali and Katarina were dueling furiously, but he could see the still lingering effects of Akali’s slowing cloud forcing Katarina to drag her limbs as though through jelly. She would not hold for long. It was time for action.

He would not die here. Not now. Not with her.

Forcing power into his limbs, Garen broke free of the ninja’s weighty magics, meeting Volibear head on, swinging his sword with a cry of fury. The Ursine answered him pounding forward even faster. Garen felt his sword sink into the meat of the animal’s shoulder before he was flying through the air, hurled further from Katarina.

She could handle herself. He had to believe in that. In her, and the acceptance made him feel weightless.

Almost in answer, he heard the whirling of her blades speed forward. She was pushing for him. Garen closed his eyes, and when he opened them he was ready.

He charged forward, pushing the bear back towards Katarina, back towards Akali, where he didn’t want to go. Volibear knew what he was doing, but under Garen’s relentless assault he was helpless to stop him. They weren’t the only ones to have taken a tower. Quickly Garen threw his shield up, and now he could feel it the thrumming in his bones. This was why he lived. He turned his sword into an extension of his arm and plowed forward, ripping apart anything in his path, a flash, and Katarina stood beside Volibear, who reared back, white fur stained red from the bite of Garen’s sword.

“Demacia!”

“For Noxus!”

They charged.

Akali darted between them, a deadly wavering shadow. Garen could feel blood pouring from his arm, his thigh, from a cut above his brow, but still he pushed, sweat breaking out over him. Katarina was like a piece of him, moving around an between his attacks, the both of them moving so seamlessly, it was as though they were one.

Volibear let out a roar, and suddenly Akali was running, her slender form weaving towards the jungle beside them, and then Sion was there, his huge axe swinging before him, the metal large enough to be a whoosh intead of a whistle through the air. Katarina was still fighting but Akali’s first strike had taken it’s toll on her, and Garen pushed Volibear toward were Sion stood, swinging his axe helplessly at Akali who weaved him with the grace of a wasp in the wind.

The must have had a ward up the whole time, Garen realized with a sinking in the pit of his stomach. He should have known. He should have realized.

All that waiting and they had known their location the whole time.

Volley let out a roar and suddenly Garen was blinded by striking lightning, thundering into his core. He saw Katarina go down, her body limp, and he felt an ache that he was wary to classify. He staggered steps unsteady, but Sion was almost unaffected, slamming into Volibear with all the force of Noxus’ grotesque science. Volibear went down, with a final roar, Akali having long since run off into the grass to regroup.

Garen limped back toward his fallen turret and then past it. He could hear Sion trailing him, but he wasn’t really listening. Behind him, Katarina’s body lied pooling blood in a crumpled heap, a vicious reminder of his failure. Soon the magic that powered these Fields of Justice would revive her, and she would fade into nothing, only to be born anew ready for battle.

Minions puddled over his feet and around him, eagerly clashing, unaware of the heaviness in his heart. Safely near a turret, Garen settled down into the grass to wait. Slowly he felt his strength coming back to him, but almost a full minute passes before he heard her feet running swiftly down the worn lane of battle.

She looked completely unharmed, and it wasn't enough to make him forget the sight of her hair lying wet with blood on the ground before him.

A sight he may one day see outside the Fields of Justice, outside the realm of magics powerful enough to manipulate life and death.

The thought instilled in him a weariness that overtook even the recent thrill of battle.

She wove towards him, slipping into the grass beside him, and assesed his condition with a practed eye. He knew he musn’t look good. Blood was running into one of his eyes from the scratch on his brow, and his breathing was harsh, and heavy.

“You need to return.” Her voice, steady practical. He saw her as she was minutes ago, white with realization that they were about to be ambushed.

“I won’t leave you here. Give me a few minutes to recover.”

Her hand drifted toward him, and he had to stiffen his back not to pull away. She noticed, he can tell in the appearance of fine lines beside her eyes, but she said nothing. He allows her to misread his meaning. She should never know how much he longs for even the simplest touch of her hand.

She wiped the blood from his forehead, using her clean sleeve to mop away the worst of it. He closed his eyes.

Garen wished, not for the first time, that he didn’t love her.

“Sion.”

Garen’s eyes opened in confusion, but her emerald gaze was no longer on him. She was looking to her side where the Undead Champion loomed above them, cold gaze interrupting their tryst.

Not tryst. Meeting.

“Go scout ahead for me. Run back when they are close. Garen needs time to heal.”

Sion snorted, spat a wad of greenish pus into the grass at Garen’s feet.

“Demacian weakling.”

“Go Sion.” Katarina snapped and her voice was as sharp as her blades. Sion started off, barely a backward glance at the pair of them. Not for the first time, Garen wondered what it was that tied the Noxian’s together. What it was that kept them going.

“Thank you.” Garen said, his voice surprising even himself. Katarina pulled away swiftly, looking out over the field just as he had done earlier.

“Don’t thank me.” She said, and Garen looked away, clenching his jaw. Of course that was a Noxian for you, you offer them a kind word and they spit it back at you. He cursed himself for feeling this. Demacian weakling was exactly-

“I failed you.” Katarina said, her voice like tempered steel. “Don’t thank me for failing you.”

Garen reached a hand forward, to what purpose he didn’t know, but she crawled forward to him, and now he was tracing the line of her face. Her skin was impossibly smooth against his hand, so callused from the sword, and he could feel his heart rolling at the sight of her small heart shaped face cradled in something he only used for battle.

They were weapons the both of them. Like matched blades.

Blades don’t love, and when Garen pulled his hand away, he was startled to see her crawl closer, her body slinking toward him, unavoidable.

“Katarina…” He said, and his voice was broken, harsh, and then she was kissing him, her body pressed against the front of him, all sweet curves and heavy armor. His hands sank into the cloud of her hair, and he groaned, the sound rattling out of him. She tasted sweet, and yet metallic, like blood.

He would expect nothing less from her.

She pulled away from his mouth to arch her body more fully into his hands, and she let out a sigh, bordering on a moan. It was a sweet sound, and Garen allowed himself to imagine a world in which he could hear that sound every night, before he ripped himself away from her. The movement took more effort than he could have thought.

She moved toward him, and he caught her hands, stroking along her fingers when she stiffened. He didn’t want to hurt her.

“We can’t.” He whispered, and it came out fierce, gruff.

“I know.” She said, and for a moment they were silent except for the harsh sounds of racing breath.

“I know we can’t.” The sorrow in her voice was a heady thing, and Garen both loved and hated being the cause. “I know we can’t. You know we can’t.”

“If we both know than we have to stop.” Garen murmured, but he sounded frayed and desperate even to his own ears. Her green eyes poured over his face as though devouring him for memory.

“No.” She said, and her mouth curved into a smile as sharp and deadly as any dagger she’s ever aimed for his heart. “I know my heart is for Noxus. No matter what we do here.”

She turned her head and kissed his palm, her lips soft, the only thing Garen had ever burned for besides battle.

“If I promise to still take your life one day on a battlefield, if given the chance, why can’t I also take you into me right now?” Even as Garen felt himself stiffen at her words, he was pulling back, trying to create distance. It was hard, and she made it no easier winding herself around him.

“It is a betrayal.”Garen whispered into her hair.

“I love you.” She said, and then she pushed him backwards into the grass. He tried to sit up, push her away, but she slipped a quick fist into his ribs, and all the air rushed out of him in a gust.

“Stop.” He told her, but she paid him no heed, straddling his waist, and tossing her glorious mane of hair over one shoulder, to better see how to unbuckle his cape, and slip his chest plate free. It was heavy for her, even with her immense strength and power, and Garen tried to use the moment to his advantage, to pull away. He bucked and she rode the motion, her eyes glowing.

“Sion.” She muttered absently, and Garen looked up to see the undead warrior staring into his eyes over the grass freezing him into place. His limbs lay helplessly by his side and Garen couldn’t even make a sound as Katarina slid him, thick and swollen with all the blood left in his body free of his armor.

“I’ve wanted this for so long.” She murmured, and even as Garen felt a scream building up in his throat, she was slicing a hole in her own clothing and sinking down onto him.

“You’re sick Katarina.” Sion said, his voice a horrifying rumble, wet rumble through rarely used vocal chords. “He’s Demacian scum.”

“Go back to mid lane.” She said, and her voice was a breathless rush of pleasure. Garen closed his eyes as she began to move. She was slick and tight around him, wet and ready, though whether from the kiss they had just shared, or the battle they had fought he was unsure. She bounced slightly on her heels adjusting the length of him inside her and he groaned helplessly at the feeling.

“This is wrong.” He said, and she smiled at him, a twisted quirk of her mouth that made him ache.

“I know.”

He could move now, the stunning effect of Sion’s murderous gaze having retreated as swiftly the monstrosity had, but pulling away was hard.

Katarina was rolling her hips in dirty, grinding circles, moaning softly, and the feeling had Garen clenching his teeth, fingers digging into the grass to either side of him.

He couldn’t let this continue. It was wrong, and no matter how amazing, perfect and right she felt wrapped around him, this was a betrayal. To himself, to Demacia, and to everything he held dear.

“Shh.” She whispered suddenly, and he looked up at her. Her hips were still riding him into the ground, squeezing him like nothing he’d felt before, but her mind was clearly somewhere else, somewhere beyond their scanty grass covering, and closer to where he could hear the sounds of battle ringing closer. “Something triggered my ward.”

“Stop then, Kata-“

Garen swallowed and felt the sharpened tip of her Noxian steel dig into his throat. Aside from her blade, and where he lay buried in her, they weren’t even touching.

“Shut up, lover.” Katarina said, but softer, sweeter than she should have. “I’m trying to concentrate, and the size of you is already making it difficult.”

Garen could feel himself blushing, the heat rising dully to his sunbeaten cheeks, and Katarina smiled at him small and amused, before turning back to watch for anything approaching.

It didn’t take long.

Akali and his sister, Luxanna, were pushing after Thresh, their faces grim masks of concentration while the ghostly menace glided away from them chuckling the sound sonorous and menacing. Garen shifted awkwardly, but Katarina’s blade was still held over his throat, and it was as good an excuse as any to let himself arch his hips into her warmth, let the tips of his finger trail though the end of her hair, where it swayed from the tight motion of her hips. She was panting now, her thighs arching and flexing with his own, pushing closer and closer to climax. She let out a soft cry, and Garen pulled her down, heedless of her blade at this point, burying her face in his neck to muffle her cries, as he pushed into her, bouncing the weight of her firmly on top of him.

She was murmuring into his neck, nothing he could understand, and when she began to tense, her body shaking apart around him, Garen closed his eyes, clenching his teeth, and tried not to let his heart break.

She sat up slowly, and she blinked when she did, shifting awkwardly on the stiff length of him. She started to smile, but Garen was sliding her off of him, depositing her gently into the grass. He’d pushed her dagger out of hands reach, but he knew she had more.

“You didn’t-”

“My life for Demacia.” Garen said, and he turned his back on her, trying to wipe the remains of her pleasure off of his still desperately hard cock. A few feet away his sister fought for her life.

Everything was ruined, and he could feel damp traces of sweat rolling down his back. The wind blew around him, and he could smell the scent of their sex in the air.

There was silence behind him, and when he turned around, she was gone. Garen picked up his own sword, boxed away the disquiet in his mind, and turned to fight for his team. They would win.

He knew they would.

“DEMACIA!”

**Author's Note:**

> [glhf](honeyedlion.tumblr.com)


End file.
